


All Eyes On You

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (All Stiles' doing. Because they are bros.), F/F, Malia the artistic loner, Obligatory coffeeshop au, and Kira the closet Star Wars dweeb, angst happens
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-15
Updated: 2014-07-15
Packaged: 2018-02-05 13:50:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1820647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fall has finally arrived, the beginning of senior year drawing close, and Kira is spending as much time as she can working at her family's café, <i>the Fox Ear</i>. She wants something easy and comforting to set the pace for the big year ahead, only, nothing seems to go as she planned, because the last week of her summer break a new student from the local community college walks through the door, slips in along with the first freshly turned breeze of the season, and, just maybe, through the cracks of Kira's shyness, her long-held shields, along the way.</p><p>How a werefox and a werecoyote fall in love - not all at once, and just before they crumble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Eyes On You

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the song by St. Lucia, I highly recommend it.

Kira is wiping down a table by the back booths when the bell at the font of the café jingles. Her back is to the entrance, and the sound doesn’t even register against the backdrop of the shop’s activity: the clacking of plates and silverware and the ambient chatter of customers, a scattered din that pervades the room. The music playing over the old radio system is something soft, late 80s; it settles into the seams of the place like she’s always remembered it to – when she was younger, and her dad would let her have the stool by the register so she could swing her pudgy toddler legs and help him greet newcomers through the door.

She smoothes a hand over her bun out of habit, rubbing it loose more than anything else, and whips her dishtowel over one shoulder. With a practiced maneuver, she sweeps a tray of dirty dishes into the crook of her arm and turns toward the kitchen on the far side of the café.

Before she can make it five steps, an arm snakes around her waist and hauls her into the alcove by the restroom. Kira nearly loses her stack of dishes in the process.

 _“Stiles.”_ She stresses it like a curse, gritting her teeth as the tray wobbles dangerously.

He’s wearing a crooked grin when she turns around, and her glare deflates before she can weigh it on him – let it be known, Kira Yukimura is not meant for that level of malicious Intent. She’s not even a good liar. She clams up.

Kira flaps a hand at him. “What are you _doing_ here?” Her tone is chiding but halfhearted. “Don’t you have more important things to be doing? Like, sleeping?”

“Very true,” Stiles agrees, because sure, it’s 9 a.m. on a weekend morning and technically still summer for the remainder of the week, something Stiles is known to capitalize on with fervor.

He pulls his arm from her waist and shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans, his smile widening as he tips his head dismissively with a sideways eyeroll. “My dad’s been getting me out of bed by seven the past few days. Apparently I am woefully unprepared to jump back into the school year.” He sighs heavily, falling into step behind her, and waits as she leans through the kitchen’s swinging door to drop her tray in the bin.

When she pulls back, Stiles has crowded close, a frown working at the corners of his mouth as he finishes, “Oh summer, we hardly knew ye.”

Kira doesn’t bother to cover her chittering laugh as they head back to the counter out front. She’s used to Stiles spending an inordinate amount of time hanging around the café. It wasn’t like there was much else to do in Beacon Hills, town of little wonders. He was expected by their regulars, even, enough that her dad had offered him a job and a uniform at the beginning of the summer. Stiles politely declined. He was sharp enough to figure out that they'te tight on money as it is – though he hasn’t stopped milling about behind the desert case most days, offering crucial advice on which bagels go best with what latte.

Kira reclines against the back of the glass case and flicks her hand up to tug at the collar of his plaid overshirt. He quickly pulls back, startled into a playful snort, and crosses his elbows on the countertop before peering out into the large space of the café.

Their friendship is easy, something she wouldn’t have imagined falling back into the way it has, after she came back to stay with her dad last August. They were friends before – the best of friends, actually. Her fears were unnecessary, but not completely unfounded.

It had been years since she felt so at home.

Kira wrinkles her nose, idly picking at the lining that edges the case. “Ugh, school. Don’t remind me.”

The café would still be her safe place, of course, but she’ll have less hours once schoolwork becomes a major timesuck. She might be working only evenings, and only a couple times a week or less when senior workload and college applications eventually drive her anxiety up the wall.

She sighs, follows Stiles’ gaze to a nest of haphazard tables in the back corner. A group of older teens have tucked themselves into the cushions of the booths.

Light shines through the bay windows at the front, washing the place in rich golds and oranges and yellows, grainy, natural hues that seep into every wooden fixture, the flooring, the finish of the tabletops and chairs, and stands out against the weepy glow from the lampshades in the more shadowed recesses of the room. It’s small enough to give just the right amount of privacy, while at the same time offering the cozy allure of an invitation to enter, and remain.

Something sweet underscores the air, the faint scent of pine after an early rain has softened the ground.

This. This is her home.

Stiles turns to her with a wry upturn to his mouth. “But hey,” he says, “I had to have motivation to get me here in the first place.” He feigns checking his surroundings, as if his true life motivations were under constant danger of eavesdroppers. “I came to intrude on your working environment for a top secret mission. Y’know, last day of summer type missiony goods.”

“Stiles, that’s _next_ Sunday.”

“Same thing!” he practically yelps, leaning into her space conspiratorially, He levels Kira with his most unimpressed face, like she is obligated to understand the inner mechanisms of his mind and their many enigmas, by this point, or to at least respect them. Then he darts his eyes away, over to two college-aged boys as they enter the café, bell tinkling above them.

“Seriously,” he says slowly, tracking them as they make their way to the register, “a college is within a ten minute walking distance, a college that, I might add, starts their fall semester _this week_ ,” he’s unsubtle, at least to Kira, as he eyes up the tallest boy, dark hair and darker eyes, “and you have not prepared thyself for all the sweet, _sweet_ young booty you’ll be seeing on the regular?”

Stiles crooks an eyebrow at her. He presses tighter against his forearms, very obviously leaning over the case for a good look, now. “Pssha, I’m _there_ ,” he drawls. He tilts his head to send her a wink. “Or, here, I guess. Totally here. You can’t get rid of me, dude. Mornings and afternoons are the best times to find college kids in need of caffeine, and they will be all up in your little foxy ears.”

Kira’s eyebrows pinch up, exasperated and a bit incredulous, though those particular vibes have never done much to dispel Stiles’ crazy, anyway. “Okay, one? How is this only now a thing that you’re doing. You had last summer, didn’t you? Two,” she rounds on Stiles with her hands sitting on her hips, “we’ll be back in school next week and my shifts will be in the evenings, so there goes you’re big plan.”

She hides the quirk of a smile on her lips. “Also, stop making fun of the café name where my dad can hear, you dork. He’s sensitive and you’ll make his acid reflex flare up again.”

“I won’t be disrupting you,” Stiles whines as she moves away from him, “ _much_.”

“You’re telling me you just now figured this out?”

“As a _stress reliever_ ,” he emphasizes.

Sighing again, Kira walks down the length of the counter to where her father is scribbling down the last of the boys’ orders. He waves them off as he tucks his pen into the pocket of his uniform apron.

“Alright, Kira, why don’t you get those two gentlemen their breakfast,” he tells her with a smile, handing off the notepad. The crow’s feet framing his eyes are deeper today, though most days he’s as happy as he can be to be doing what he loves. For a moment, she’s caught wondering how her mom could ever need anything more.

“Got it, dad.”

It doesn’t take her long to bring the order to their table. There’s a short wait as she retrieves fresh turnovers from the kitchen, and Stiles assists, insists actually, in making their coffee – he’s always had a better handle of the technology than she did, so she agrees – but draws the line at him taking them their order himself. They’re pleasant enough, the younger, curly-haired boy moreso than the older one, as he’s beaming at her all the way through her usual fumbling. They chose one of her favorite spots, too, a table pressed up against the corner window with the best view of the park a little ways down the street, just around the corner of the flowershop that sits opposite the café.

"Ooh, look at that one there,” Stiles breathes, when she returns to the counter. He gestures with his chin to the boy that had smiled at her as she irrevocably, and unavoidably, embarrassed the crap out of herself. “He seems nice."

"Stiles,” she warns.

"Unsteady hands are nothing to be ashamed of!” he crows, maybe a little too loudly, because he earns a few concerned looks from the nearby tables.

A blush warms the tips of Kira’s ears; she throws a glance over her shoulder to make sure they didn’t hear. “Stiles, _shut up_.”

"Alrighty then. More college boys for me," he adds pleasantly with a decisive nod.

He turns away to fiddle with the coffee cups stacked by one of the machines. His frown has faded into something else, and his shoulders have visibly tensed.

A thought strikes her, then, and her eyes narrow. Kira waits a moment, drawing it out as she wipes a hand down the front of her apron and smoothes the other over her bun again. "Stiles,” she starts, voice going soft, “I think I know what you're -"

At those words, his shoulders slump, his hands dropping heavily to the countertop. When he looks over at her, only a few feet away, he does so slowly, swallowing. “It’s just...” He looks down, scuffs the toe of his converse against the paneling. “You’ve been so mopey lately, and I..."

His voice is a little hoarse as he speaks, low and unprecise. There’s a look in his eyes when he detaches his focus from the floor, and he takes a step forward, hesitating for only a second before he moves the rest of the way. Stiles is right in front of Kira now, close enough that he can lift a hand to squeeze her forearm. "I just wanted to try _something_."

She’s not used to seeing Stiles like this – all watery smile and concerned eyes. 

Kira huffs out a short breath of air, resting her weight back against the coffee machine. She lets the lighting, the sounds and the soothing chatter of the room calm her. They’ve avoided it long enough. She takes a chance, asks, "Stiles... is this about Scott?"

Scott. The thing with Scott, or should she say, _her_ thing – that happened four months ago. Back when her friendship with Stiles extended to Stiles’ friends, to Scott and the rest of the guys on the lacrosse team. It was incredible for a while, coming back to Beacon Hills with low expectations, and being met with so many faces, new and old, who were kind to her, and befriended her. It went like that for a while, yeah, but then she had to mess everything up, as she was wont to do – as was her nature.

She fell for Scott. Not at first, but slowly, starting from day one. It was a crush that hadn’t come to the surface until sometime after Christmas break, not until he broke up with Allison, and the time Kira spent with him became something more, or at least, a promise of that. It was her fault for foolishly believing it. It wasn’t _Scott’s_ fault, he just... didn’t make it clear enough, at the time, that getting back together with Allison was even a possibility. Which they did. Get back together. Publicly, and at the biggest game of the season.

A fleeting rebound. That’s basically what she was.

So Kira was broken up about it. Embarrassed, even. Enough that she felt things were too awkward between them, even when Scott tried to assure her it wasn’t, that what had happened between them hadn’t been anything at all. She had to stop hanging out with the group, sitting with them at lunch, everything too overwhelming in their reminder. Her first heartbreak, and she was losing so much.

Well, there was Stiles. He made a point of going out of his way to keep her company, in school and out. He’s still good friends with Scott and the rest of them, but he also understands her more than he lets on. And Kira knows - he blames himself for the whole mess, because he saw the signs early on, and couldn’t convince her against it.

He’s wrong, though. And she hates herself for it.

 _It's alright_ , she wants to remind him. She wants him to know, to tell him that her piss poor emotional state isn't his fault, never was, wasn't Scott's, either, but the words just... don't come.

“Stiles,” she says, leaning in close, “I’m over it, it’s done and gone. I know you blame yourself for what I did, but I did it, and that’s on me. It’s not something I worry about, now. And it won’t be again.” She breathes out slowly, willing a smile to the surface. “Not ever, okay? Remember that. Old wounds.”

She nods, mostly a reassurance to herself. She should’ve said those words aloud sooner, if not for Stiles than to put her own mind at ease. New year, bigger problems. It’s a large weight off her shoulders to finally admit it.

Shoulders settling, Stiles smiles back, nods his acceptance. He didn’t want to talk about it, either, then, though he knew it had to be done. “All I’m saying, though,” he starts, a little carefully, “Is surveying the lay of the land never hurt anybody. It makes me feel a hundred times better, and is also a completely valid hobby.”  
  
He pauses, adds, “I’m doing this for my hobby. Kira, take up my hobby with me.”

They’ve reached some kind of truce, and Kira is willing to roll with it. She bursts out laughing when Stiles waggles his eyebrows at her.

“Alright,” she amends, swiveling around to the front counter and dropping her forearms onto it. “Stiles, what do your elf eyes see?”

The rest of the morning is spent on Stiles’ “hobby,” which was really just some strange scale he’d made up, something elaborate that one could only decipher through pre-determined knowledge of Stiles-speak, and rating each customer the café gets through the door. Kira finds it surprising, as almost every single one appears to be coming in from Beacon Hill’s Community College just down the street. She hadn’t taken up a full time job at the café last summer, or for most of the previous year, but surely she would’ve noticed the difference before.

Stiles goes back home sometime in the early evening, when the café is at its slowest. The air turns a touch cooler with the setting sun – goodbye to warmer seasons, Kira thinks. It settles into its hold on their little street corner, the store morphing into nothing less than a dream, pleasantly warm and the front windows marked by the glow of the single streetlight just beyond the glass, a slow-blinking, rustic yellow that lights up half the intersection every few minutes. She starts counting the pattern of it as she stands idle by the register.

Her dad has disappeared into one of the storerooms to take inventory for the next morning’s baking. Out here, the café is still going at an easy pace. There’s an old couple speaking quietly in one of the booths, a mother and her toddler taking their time with a piece of chocolate cake. The child plucks at a glob of frosting with a swollen finger, nearly missing her mouth when she tries to lick at it, and gains a certain concentration when she rubs her sticky fingers on the side of her mother’s glass of water. The mother watches on with amusement, eyes full of laughter, as the child attempts to clean her fingers with the condensation that’s gathered there.

When the last song on the radio ends, Kira hops over the counter to turn the dial. Something just as slow has started on the next station, if a bit faster in the chorus and more pop-y. She’s never heard it before, so she assumes this is one of the newer indie stations that Beacon Hills has started playing recently. Sure enough, by the second chorus she’s already humming along without realizing it, and she’s using her thumb to pick at the black nail polish on her middle finger while she doodles something inane on her dad’s notepad. 

After another minute, the song has started to fade out, and Kira looks up in time to catch sight of someone outside the café just before they push their way inside. The bell sounds its unobtrusive warning and falls back into place.

Whoever she is, she’s – dark, all of her. Swathed in it. A sweater with an odd, distorted pattern peeks out from under a thrift store jacket, and the soft-looking greyed fleece that lines the hood is warped inside-out, bunched around her throat. As the girl steps into the room, cold air snakes between her legs before the door can close. It’s only a faint tingle against Kira’s arms when it reaches her, but goosebumps break out across her skin, and she’s rubbing at them without another thought.

Which is odd. September is only now rolling in, and Kira hadn’t expected cold nights so soon, let alone someone bundled up for it.

The girl moves into the space of the café without sparing Kira a passing glance. She’s shouldering a messenger bag that has twisted behind her hip; Kira watches it bounce heavily against the back of the girl’s leg as she stares after her.

“Um,” Kira says, quiet enough that it’s only for herself. It’s not unusual for customers to prefer ordering from their seats over stopping by the register – some even just come to sit and enjoy the quiet space – but this girl hadn’t even looked at Kira, hadn’t even acknowledged Kira standing by the door. It confuses her, mostly because she’s absolutely sure this is the first time the girl’s ever been to the café.

Kira grabs the notepad from the counter and heads over to the booth the girl chose to settle into, one of the few tucked up against the window. The shoulder of her jacket that's facing out into the isle is covered in colorful patches, some ragged with the threads coming loose from the seams. One looks like a playing card, but with skulls instead of hearts or spades, and another is a stylized wolf mid-spring, red-eyed and face contorted by a snarl. The girl's messenger bag is tucked against the bench at her feet, and Kira spies more patches on the flap.

“Hi,” Kira starts, clearing her throat a little too loudly. She’s already flushing by the time the girl looks up at her. There’s disinterest clear in the girl’s eyes and the line of her mouth, and when she meets Kira’s gaze, she lifts a perfect eyebrow. Wow, Kira stops to think. That’s like, a superpower or something. She’s only seen it done like that in movies. She pushes on, “I’m Kira.”

Both of the girl’s eyebrows are up now, and she doesn’t say anything, just keeps staring at Kira. Those eyebrows are clearly communicating something along the lines of, _are you going to get on with it or not_?

“Um, hi, yes, I’m here for your order?” Kira can feel the heat rising in her cheeks. She winces at her own words, corrects, “Do you have an order? I can get you something, if you’d like.”

The girl is quiet for a long moment, and doesn’t even pretend like she’s not burning a hole through Kira’s face with her scrutiny. Kira watches right back, determined to hold the girl's gaze no matter how jittery with nerves it makes her. The girl’s hair is unruly, like the she doesn’t care much how it looks, and hangs over her shoulder in a messy braid. Kira envies her for it, because it’s still gorgeous, and is probably naturally that way, even the highlights.

“Coffee,” she answers slowly, “Black. No cream, no sugar.” And then a little strangely, like a particularly irritating afterthought. “Thanks.”

Kira nods, retreats to the coffee machine and dithers about, drawing out the time it’d usually take. She’s never felt so flustered and stupid in her life. What did she expect? An introduction? While the machine chugs and fills the cup in haphazard spurts, she twirls it around, rubbing absently at her chest with her other hand. Her heart is beating at an anxious pace, and drowning her senses with the sharp, overwhelming smell of the expresso is her only hope of evening it out.

The girl had smelt nice, something that had given her a distinct sensory memory, warm milk and raisin bread, long nights on the back porch with her dad when she was much, much younger, and they’d sit for hours with nothing but the forest around them. She hasn’t thought of that in – too long, if she’d remembered it at all.

Her heart felt like it’d been punched, sure, but it’s just a scent. Nothing more, nothing less. Everyone has one, and, she reasons, new people are just hard to get used to in the beginning. It’s instinct.

She resets her jaw and throws on her brave face.

When she returns to the booth, Kira notices that the messenger bag has been moved onto the seat at the girl’s side. She doesn’t say anything when Kira sets her coffee down on a coaster in front of her, doesn’t even take her eyes off some fixed point out in the darkening street.

“If you need anything else, let me know,” Kira says kindly. She hesitates, unsure for just a moment what to do with herself. It isn’t noticeable at first, not in the comfortably dim lighting and fuzzy glow from the streetlight, but a free strand of the girl’s hair hangs out over her cheek, and this close, there’s a visible tremble to it.

Kira adds, “I can adjust the thermostat if it’d make you more comfortable.”

At first, the girl doesn’t appear to have heard, nor noticed that Kira was standing there at all. Without the slightest shift in her unwavering gaze where it still sits somewhere outside, she finally speaks, “It’s too cold without a fur coat.”

Her voice has grown oddly distant, nothing like before.

Kira tries a smile. “That jacket not doing you any good?” The fur in the hood looks soft and warm.

“Hmm?” The girl finally breaks from her trance, flicks her dark eyes over to Kira. She lifts her eyebrows again, though not as much as before. “Oh,” she sounds a touch surprised as her gaze lands on the coffee, though she hides it quickly enough. “That’ll be all, thanks.”

Kira starts to say something else, but stops herself. Weird. She leaves the girl to her coffee and decides to go find her dad.

Although she doesn’t go by the girl’s table again the rest of the evening, Kira can’t seem to get that scent out of her nose. She maybe wishes she could ask her dad about it, but, really, there’s nothing he could tell her that she didn’t already know. And there was no way she was talking to her mom again. Not so soon after the last time. She wasn’t in the mood for a repeat.

The café closes at ten, and the first thing she does when she gets home is call Stiles. He picks up on the third ring.

“Kira! Are you too tired to come over?” He says this all in a jumble, not stopping to breathe. “Danny and I are playing Halo 2, but Danny sucks at co-op and I want to do a play through on legendary. I’m in desperate need of your good aim. Sleep in tomorrow, take an afternoon shift, _please_ , just –“

“Stiles.”

“Is that a yes?”

Kira sighs. She wants to remind him that she was the one who called and, just maybe, she has something she actually wants to talk about. But she drops it, manages to smile instead. “That’s a yes. I’ll ask dad if I can borrow the car, be there in ten.”

It’s nothing that couldn’t wait.


End file.
